


Blackboard Romance

by riffraff84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, M/M, Oral, Other, Threesome, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riffraff84/pseuds/riffraff84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories of the past haunt the potions professor but his green eyed student proves that not every son follows in their fathers footsteps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackboard Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own it I only use it and put it back on the shelf with only some slightly bent corners. 
> 
> A/N: This was a challenge I wrote sometime ago. Hope you enjoy :)

Blackboard Romance

_‘The soft tickle of their hair against one another’s skin as they lie in shade. The creamy expanse of skin dappled by sunlight streaming down from between the leaves of the trees. The gentle rise and fall of their chest against another’s as their heartbeats slow together after such strenuous activity. He’s watched them three times now, leaving in the early hours of the morning to frolic like fillies in the misty morning shallows of the lake. When he closes his eyes he can identify each of them by their laughter. There is the rich melodious but not yet broken voice of the boy with spectacles, the deep hoarse growl of the moonlit beast and the calm collected mellow drawl of the families black duck. He knows them each by name and face but it’s their voices that he remembers most. The voices that taunt, tease and cruelly cut into his already painfully thin skin. When he watches them though he can block out their cruelty and focus on the envious beauty they can create together. Hidden he is free to see their true friendship and as he waits for them to catch their breath after swimming he sits back and observes closely._

_As predicted the black duck always makes the first move. It is a show of dominance he envies and craves to feel. A commanding hand tucked under the chin of the bespectacled boy dragging him roughly up into the first of many deep kisses. He can see the boy’s toes curl in response to the kiss, can feel the air being sucked from his lungs as the elder of the three boys asserts his position as leader. The kiss ends with a nip of lips that leaves a trail of spit glistening on the younger boys bottom lip. The wolf is content to sit and watch as his friends strip off and sit together against the tree trunk, the younger straddling the black duck and ridding him in a playful dry hump. It is all a game to them he is sure, as he watches shorts get pushed aside as the rosy swollen tips of cocks poke out from the waist bands of wet clothes. Sandwiched together there is little room for movement but enough to build up friction as they continue to grind against one another. He can hear their twin groans of pleasure as their lips mold together in an attempt to muffle the sound from anyone who might dare come looking for them. The activity is short lived as the dark haired elder looses interest quickly. He has learnt in the brief moments he has watched that the black duck is the hardest to please, with a thick solid cock, an insatiable need and a will of iron he is much harder to break than the other two. Perhaps if they weren’t enemies he’d offer to try and make the boy scream, as he seems so reluctant to do with his friends._

_The morning is moving on quickly and soon the castle they call home will awaken, so they progress more quickly. Spinning the younger boy around on his lap the elder ferociously pulls down his sodden shorts. He has seen the pale backside and thin rod like cock of the messy brown haired boy before. He is always in the middle without exception, a pawn for the enjoyment of his two best friends. There is no preparation this morning he observes and watches as the green eyes wince shut as the elder boy shoves his prick hard into the younger boy’s backside with a primal grunt. He can feel every inch of the searing heat inside his own backside, just as if it was he sitting firmly upon those Quidditch toned thighs. He spreads his legs to mirror that of the impaled boy, who has now bent forward gasping for breath as his friend thrusts upwards seeking fulfillment. The freckled pale boy who until recently had been happy to jerk himself off suddenly joins in. Leaning across the pair, his unkempt wild hair hanging in his face, as he opens his mouth and devours the younger boy’s rigid cock in one fluid movement. He watches the bob of the beast’s throat as he sucks the average length in his mouth, the sunlight catching the reflection of the saliva that sparkles on his lips and on the boy’s flushed filled skin. Perfectly they move together, the black duck’s hand carefully guiding both of the boy’s into oblivion. They groan in unison and he watches the small changes in each of their faces as orgasm takes over. The boy with the glasses is first like always, the pinch of his face, his girlish whimper and pathetic gasp for air the only physical signs that he has cum. The wolf is next. Having swallowed his best friends load, his own hand becomes a blur of frantic movement down the front of his shorts as he jerks himself to completion, a fist stuffed in his mouth to stop himself from howling. The elder is the last, pushing his now pliable, liquid boned friend onto all fours so that he can pound into him from behind. He is sure the boy’s tight fingers must leave bruises on the other boy’s pale creamy slender waist but they’re always gone when he dares peek a look in the showers after Quidditch practice. His completion is always spectacular to watch, his face a picture of schooled control as he uses his friends body to milk every last drop of essence from his cock. He never speaks as he comes, just presses a chaste kiss to the back of his friends neck before pulling out spent and exhausted._

_He has watched them three times and already he knows he is too addicted to the show not to come again. He does not know what he will do when the winter comes but wherever the trio go, he will follow willingly. He is hard himself but in defiant self-control he’ll never touch. He watches as they get up and dress themselves, laughing and chatting as if what they’ve just done was nothing more than a swim with mates. He hates them, hates their beauty, hates their ability to look at him with disgust when they themselves sully each other with sexual pleasure. He hates them………’_

Harry distantly hears the scream, the angry bitter howl that sounds like a tortured animal. Pain is the next thing he registers as the knife sharp mental blocks slam down into place expelling him from the memories and throwing him several feet across the room to slam into the wall with a sickening crack. He shakes the curse off and sits in shock for a few minutes trying to gather his wits. The silence that lingers in the room is terrifyingly heavy. He swallows thickly trying to expel the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his heart.

That was unexpected.

Dazed he doesn’t dare move as the shaky sounds of whimpering catch at the edges of the silence. It takes every ounce of courage for him to stand up, his back protesting with pain as he straightens himself before bending to pick up his discarded wand. He is not prepared for the sight that greets him. Curled up at the end of the dueling platform sits the wizard whose memories he’s just trampled on. The sleek black form Harry had come to fear but also admire was sat, a wreck on the dusty timber floor. Harry can see the shudders of the shoulders as the grown man physically shakes. The effort required throwing Harry from his thoughts undoubtedly draining what little strength the wizard had left. One foot after another Harry forces himself to move, concern for his mentor overwhelming the feeling of disgust that had swept through him during the memories.

“Snape.” His voice mirrors that of the memory and he cringes as he watches the head of his mentor flinch at the sound. Harry decides he shouldn’t speak at all and instead drops to his knees in front of the elder wizard, who has yet to acknowledge him. It is confronting to sit before the empty shell of such a proud, stubborn man and Harry wonders if all his displays of control aren’t a show to protect him from people like those in his memories.

“Don’t pity me Potter.” The words are ground out from between clenched teeth although the wizard doesn’t look up from beneath the curtain of his greasy black hair hanging in his face. Harry shakes his head silently in reply; pity the furthest emotion from his mind at present. Leaning forward Harry gently reaches out to tuck a length of black hair back behind the professors ear exposing for the first time the single glistening tear that clings to the man’s pale cheek. Harry has never seen the man express any weakness before and stares at the salty tear as it rolls down a sallow cheek, dips into the corner of the man’s thin mouth before rolling on down his chin to fall like a raindrop onto the wooden floor boards. “You’re finally getting the hang of it Potter.” Harry knows an awkward moment when he is faced with one and he also clearly spots the pathetic attempt at diffusing the situation. Snape seems to have recovered himself and goes to stand up, his gaze still not meeting that of his younger counterpart. Harry is quicker though and with two firm hands landing on Snape’s thighs to stop him from moving, Harry leans forward and presses a chaste kiss against his elder’s warm lips. Snape freezes. His eyes widen and snap up to stare into Harry’s green pools desperately seeking acceptance.

“I’m not my father Severus. I know love when I feel it.” Harry leans in again for another kiss, this one firmer more demanding than the first. Snape replies this time, his tongue snaking into Harry’s mouth to entwine and lap with the boys own in an erotic dance. Harry pulls away with a gasp his hands reaching up to tug at the high collar of the elder wizards cloak in an attempt to touch the pale, silk like skin hidden beneath the layers of black. Snape pulls away slightly with a serious expression, his own hands gently exploring the smooth planes of the boy’s face as if reminding himself the differences between the boy and his father. There is a hesitant moment and Harry leans into Snape’s cupped hand hoping the elder wizard doesn’t put an end to it.

“Finish my lesson first Potter, then you can have free time.” Harry’s confused by the comment but instantly realizes it has a hidden agenda as Snape drags one of Harry’s hands to the front of his robes, where, beneath the layers of black Harry can feel the hardness created and left over from the memories he’d just invaded. Harry smiles wickedly to himself as he fumbles with the few necessary buttons on Snape’s cloak. Frustrated by the layers he has to negotiate his way through Harry grunts a little as he works. The effort is worth the prize though as Harry reaches into the warm confines of Snape’s trousers and drags free the rigid, swollen cock.

Harry has done this before.

Admittedly not to Snape but he has practiced the skill to make up for his inability to do other things. To Harry it is an art and a performance and with a glance up to make sure Snape is watching him Harry dives, his tongue poking obscenely out to flutter across the weeping, ruby red crown. Harry works his lips up and down the length of Snape’s prick, admiring it as he goes and wishing he’d had real men to practice on instead of the boys he’d chosen. Snape is controlled beyond anyone Harry has sucked before. The man does not even flinch as Harry nips at the taunt foreskin before swallowing the length down the back of his throat in a single slide. The wizard tastes divine and Harry doubles his efforts as Snape’s fingers slide through the boy’s unruly brown locks. The hands snake their way down to the base of his skull where they encourage greater suction with a gentle push. Harry has had enough practice to predict when men cum. The slight tense of thighs, the deeper breath in and even the throb of the cock in his mouth right before they lose control. Snape is no different in that respect and Harry buries his face into the front of Snape’s pants as the man explodes down his throat, in a fiery splash of zesty essence. Greedily Harry swallows as much as he can before he needs to breath and when he pulls off he makes sure to clean the man’s cock as he goes. A pearly tendril of spit connects the tip of Snape’s prick with Harry’s swollen glistening lips when the boy finally lets the cock slip from his mouth. Harry watches through hooded eyes as Snape uses his thumb to smear the spit onto Harry’s lips before dragging him up for a kiss. The kiss is passionate but not demanding and when released Harry stays close to Snape who is gently stroking Harry’s back in soothing, pleased circles.

“Nothing like my father am I?” Harry whispers as he closes his eyes and inhales deeply on Snape’s scent.

“No, nothing like him at all…” Snape whispers in reply, his eyes closing as the last of the memories fade leaving him satisfied for the first time in years.

END


End file.
